The Morning After the Night Before
by AnxietyGrrl
Summary: LL. So it all starts, or rather ends, like this, see: She watched him turn to leave, saw his hand fall on the doorknob, and blurted, 'Stay'
1. The Morning After

NOTE: There's more to this tale, but it seems to want me to write it backwards. So eventually I may post some of what led up to this, but in the event that I don't, I think this stands alone well enough. Warning: it could not be any fluffier if I beat it with the Fluffy Stick. It's fluffy. 

* * * * * 

Lorelai sat in the Jeep drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, looking across the street at Luke's. How many people in there now? Five? Six? She had waited a whole forty-three minutes after opening, and she thought that was more than respectably patient. Now she was trying to decide just how many customers had to be in the diner before she went in. If a lot of people were there, maybe it would keep her from doing anything impulsive or embarrassing. Then again, maybe it would just be more people to be embarrassed in front of. But if she'd gone in too early, that might have seemed suspicious, and she might have forgotten there was anyone else there, and thus done something embarrassing. She wasn't really sure what said embarrassing action might entail. They hadn't even discussed what their public relations policy was going to be. But she thought it was probably safe to assume that Luke didn't want to be the major source of town gossip before noon, and she could respect that. Though asking her to hold off until dinner might be pushing it. 

All right, screw patience. This was ridiculous. If she sat out here much longer people would start to notice, and she'd come off as a crazy stalker, and there goes the whole avoiding gossip thing. 

She slammed the jeep door confidently and strode across the street, smiling. Was she smiling too much? Too much smiling could be suspicious. But so would not smiling. So she should smile just enough. Just try to look normal, Lorelai. Just use your perfectly normal, everyday, nothing out of the ordinary, 'certainly didn't have sex with that guy right there last night' smile. _Good morning, fair citizens of Stars Hollow! Isn't it lovely how nothing is different this morning than it was yesterday? Notice how I'm smiling in a perfectly normal fashion, and most definitely not grinning like a big goofy idiot because I just caught a glimpse of him through the window and - _

Okay, still outside. Going in now. 

She pushed through the door and it made its cheerful little jingle. The door made her happy. The diner was warm and inviting and smelled like breakfast, and that made her happy. Luke was behind the counter filling a napkin dispenser, and that made her wonder if her knees had been replaced with Jell-O and think, "Lucky napkin dispenser." And also happy. 

She plopped onto a stool, tossed her purse on the counter as if it were any other day, and proclaimed, "I desire pancakes!" 

Hm. Well. She had not intended on using that particular verb. 

Luke put down the napkins and turned to her, and she felt at once fluttery and gratified to notice that he seemed to be having trouble with the whole degree-of-smiling problem, too. 'Suppress it,' she wanted to say. 'Grimace or smirk or hey, smoldering would be good, but the smile is _mine_.' 

"You desire... pancakes." 

"Yes." She swallowed. "Pancakes are what I desire." 

"Only pancakes?" 

Well. Interesting. "How considerate of you to ask. I would also like a side of bacon." Oh, what the hell. She sultrified her voice a little. "Hot, salty bacon." 

He swallowed. "Anything else?" 

Oh, lots of things. "I desire coffee. Now begins the perfunctory debate." 

"No coffee for you." 

"Yes coffee for me." 

"No." 

"Yes." 

"Here's your coffee." He poured her a cup, and their eyes met, and it was this wonderful, intimate moment. 

She sighed and watched him as he walked to the kitchen, then impulsively called out, "Luke!" 

He re-approached her and she leaned over the counter conspiratorially. "What?" he asked, and he was nervous that people were watching and god, it was so cute she just wanted to grab him and make with the smoochies, but all she did was quickly open her jacket and flash him the flannel she was wearing underneath it and over her sweater. 

"That's all." She grinned, and took a long swig of her coffee. 

"Right," he said, and he didn't even make sure no one was looking before her gave her the smile. "Pancakes coming right up." 

She had to work to keep herself from bouncing. 

She was finished with her pancakes and trying very hard to watch Luke for a maximum of thirty seconds out of every minute when Miss Patty sat down next to her. 

"Good morning, Lorelai dear." 

"Morning, Patty," she answered absently. 

"Just morning? Not a _good_ morning?" 

The problem with Patty's knowing smirk was that it was knowing whether it really knew anything or not, or whether there was actually anything to know. Lorelai swallowed a mouthful of coffee and proceeded casually. "Yes, Patty. It's a very nice morning. Beautiful, glorious morning." 

"I thought so. And my, don't you look lovely today. Practically..." 

Lorelai rolled her eyes and broke in before Patty could say "glowing". "Practically late for work, actually. I should get going." 

She was digging through her purse for her wallet when she heard Patty say, "Luke! How's your morning, hmm?" 

"Fine." Ah, brevity. Good tactic. Proven effective. 

"I was just telling Lorelai that she's practically glowing today, don't you think?" 

"Hadn't noticed," he mumbled. 

"It must be that bracing March chill in the air. So invigorating. So..._stimulating_." 

Lorelai watched for his reaction. He considered just walking away. For a few seconds he tried to come up with something surly to say. Then, "Oh, for..." He threw down the towel he was holding and marched around the counter. "That's it." Lorelai swiveled on her stool to follow his progress, and then half-stumbled off it when he grabbed her hand and said, "You. Come here." 

He drew her out into the middle of the floor and placed his hands at her waist. She gave him a 'you sure?' eyebrow quirk, and he answered her with a kiss that said 'damn sure.' Her arms went around his neck. His hands slid down to her hips. Stars Hollow flickered, wavered, and disappeared until they needed to breathe again. Luke nodded decisively and exited to the kitchen, stopping only to demand, "And don't any of you even _think_ about clapping." 

Lorelai settled back on her stool and took a long, satisfying swallow of caffeinated heaven. She grinned at Patty, who seemed to be in a mild state of shock. "Ahh. _Damn_ good morning!" 


	2. Earlier That Day

NOTE: Well, I said it would be backwards. I know this is odd, but let's call it "experimental" instead, huh? In case it's not clear, this scene precedes the previous one by a scant hour or two. Now, going backwards from here, that means the next scene would be... well, we'll just see if I'm up to that. Thanks to Becky for the hasty beta! And I think I beat this chapter with the Schmoopy Stick. 

* * * * * 

Lorelai stood silently in the doorway for a while, watching as Luke slipped on his jeans and tee shirt from last night. "Morning, sleepy." 

"Hey." He looked up, noticing her for the first time. She looked rumpled and beautiful, dressed in a pair of pajama pants, blue with rubber duckies printed on them, and a tiny tank top, and over the tank top was his old gray flannel shirt. Her fingers barely peeked out from under the cuffs, but it hung on her like it belonged there. He felt ridiculously proud. "I can't believe you woke up before me." 

"Must be leftover adrenaline." She waggled her eyebrows. "You know, from all the sex." 

He nodded, trying not to grin. Trying to be cool. "I seem to recall." 

"Here, I brought you something." 

He eyed the offering skeptically. "What is it?" 

"It's the heart's blood of our enemies, to seal our dark union." 

"You sacrificed Taylor and you didn't wake me up for it?" 

"He struggled. It wasn't pretty. I thought it too much for your delicate sensibilities." He took the mug from her warm hands, running his fingers over hers more than was necessary for the exchange of a beverage. He knew exactly the necessary amount from his long history with her. Another tiny barrier crossed. 

"It's green tea," she explained. 

"In the ceramic head of a cartoon monkey." 

"It's Mojo Jojo." They sat on the edge of the bed; Lorelai folded her legs under her and leaned on him. "I picked him out especially for you. He's disgruntled." 

He took an experimental sip. Surprised, he confirmed, "It is green tea." 

"You didn't really think it was the heart's blood of our enemies, did you? Because I don't have that kind of time. It's such a hassle, you've got to lay down the tarps, and bless the ceremonial daggers -" 

"Where did you get green tea?" 

"Rory bought some when she was home over Christmas. Her roommate got her into it. That girl's a bad influence. She'll deny it, but I swear I caught Rory making eyes at a box of kashi last time we went to the market," she said darkly. 

"The horror." 

"This is what I said." 

She scooted around behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He set down the tea and held her hands in his now warm ones. "I love your back," she said into the soft cotton covering his shoulders. He didn't answer, only stroked her palm with his thumb. "Now you're supposed to say, 'I love your front'," she teased. 

"I thought that came across pretty well last night." 

"Mm, true. Actions speak louder. How long were you saving up that particular speech, oh man of few words?" 

He half-laughed, half-sighed, and she felt his back rise and fall with his breath. "You have no idea." 

She tightened her embrace a little, and said softly, "I'm sorry about that." 

"About what?" 

"That I had no idea." 

He shrugged. "You were busy." 

"Right, busy entertaining the town with my wacky romantic misadventures. And then there was that leisurely cruise by the pyramids I took." 

"What?" 

"Pyramids. Egypt. De-Nile." 

"Ah." 

Her voice took on an anxious note. "I mean, it's not like I didn't... it's not like I just suddenly... you know?" 

"I know," he reassured her. He shifted so that they faced each other, and brushed some hair off her face. "It was just... a timing thing. I always figured, if it was going to happen, it would just happen." 

"Guess you were right." She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his. 

"Yeah." He smiled. "Surprised the hell out of me, too." 

"I love surprises." 

They kissed, their first morning after kiss. It was soft and unhurried, and she smiled to realize he must have hit the Scope in the medicine cabinet. "Sorry," she said when they pulled apart. "Stinky morning breath." 

He kissed her again, and said, "This one time we'll let it slide." 

"Be right back." She sprang up from the bed, headed for the bathroom. 

"Lorelai, you don't have to--" 

"No, now it's all I can think about," she said, smacking her mouth a few times. "Blech. Don't go anywhere." 

He chuckled and fell back onto the mattress. "Wasn't planning to." But he'd have to eventually. Soon. He'd have to go to work, talk to people, act as if this were a normal day; as if it wasn't The Day After His First Night With Lorelai. 

Before he could contemplate this any further she came bounding into the room waving a toothbrush. "Luke! Luke!" She skidded to a stop in front of the bed, grabbed his hand and pulled him upright. 

"What?" 

She bounced giddily on the balls of her feet. "Did you look outside?" She backed toward the window, dragging him along by the forearm. "Did you see?" Lorelai pulled the curtain aside with a flourish. 

"It's snowing." 

"Yes!" She watched enraptured as it fell. "It's snowing just for me." Beaming, she turned to him. "For us." 

"It's too warm to stick, you know. It'll all be gone before noon," he said, but he was smiling. 

"Oh, shut up and enjoy the pretty visual." She relaxed against him, and he simply held her as they watched the flakes drift to the ground. After a few minutes she spoke again, seeming to have used the silence to gather her thoughts. "I thought this would be weird. I woke up, and when I saw you were still asleep I went downstairs because I think I panicked a little. I didn't know what I was going to say to you. Last night it seemed easy, but today for some reason I expected it to be awkward because... you know. It's us. We're us. And this is new for us. It's... different." 

"Definitely different." He tried not to tense up, worried where she was going with this. 

"And it kind of makes everything different. The whole world. I feel like the sky should be a different color. So I thought it might be, well, weird. I didn't know how I'd handle it. You may not have noticed this, but I sometimes don't react well to change." 

"So far you've handled it pretty well." 

"That's because it's not like I thought it would be. As soon as I stepped into this room and I saw you... not weird at all." 

"Oh," he said, relieved. "That's good." 

"That's very good. What about you?" She turned to see his face. 

"Is it weird for me?" 

"Uh huh." 

"It's... nice." 

"Nice? That's it?" 

"It's very nice." 

"I'll accept that answer because I know that it's Luke-speak for 'I melt in your presence, you have fulfilled my every longing, your beauty takes my very breath away.'" 

He smirked, kissed her temple. "Hey, all I got was 'not weird.'" 

"How about happy?" she asked sincerely. "Not weird and very happy." 

"I'll take that." He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, and they kissed leisurely. 

Lorelai sighed, contented, and settled into his arms. "You know, I hear different is the new normal." 

"Meaning..." 

"Meaning, I wouldn't mind if this happened again. Often. Regularly, even. That's what all of this means, right? That we're together now?" 

He decided to tread carefully. "If you want." 

"No!" She smacked him lightly on the chest. "Not 'if I want.' You're supposed to say, 'Yes, dammit, and even if you freak out, and get scared and try to make a run for it, I'm not going to let you, little missy, because we are together now.'" 

"I'm supposed to call you 'little missy'?" 

"Well, no, but the other stuff. It's more the spirit of the thing." 

"_Are_ you going to freak out and make a run for it?" 

"I have no plans to, but you never know with me." She frowned a little and picked at the fraying cuff of the shirt she wore. 

"Lorelai." He gently lifted her chin until she met his eyes. 

"Hmm?" 

"We are together now," he stated firmly. 

Cradling his face, she kissed him softly. "Yeah, that's what I thought." 

A few minutes later they stood on her front porch. "You really have to go to work?" 

"Yes. So do you." 

"Damn. Kiss me goodbye." 

Luke looked around warily. "The neighbors..." 

"Who do you think I live next to, Gladys Kravitz? It's cold out here, kiss me goodbye." She grabbed the collar of his jacket and drew him to her. When they parted, they were both smiling. 

"So..." he started, backing toward the steps, "I'll see you later, then? I mean, you'll stop by, right? For, uh, for coffee?" 

"Look at you, all cute and stammering all of a sudden." 

He rolled his eyes. "Lorelai." 

"Try and keep me away." 

"I wouldn't dare. I'd fear for my life." 

"Damn straight." 

"So... later, then." 

"Watch the stairs, there." 

"What? Oh. Yeah." He took the stairs quickly, then turned around again to look at her. "I, uh... what I said last night... we don't have to bring that up again if you don't want to..." 

"Luke." 

"Yeah?" 

"Me too." 

"Yeah?" 

"'Yeah,'" she mimicked. 

"Okay," he nodded. 

"You're smiling again," she told him as he walked to his truck. "Better watch that, someone might think you're happy." As he started up the engine she called to him, "I'm keeping the shirt!" 

When the truck was out of sight she ducked into the house and sprinted to the phone. Her bunny slippers slipped on the wood floor and she collapsed onto the couch, hit speed dial, and toyed impatiently with the buttons of her new shirt. "Ring, ring, come on, it's seven o'clock already, sensible people are awake to answer the--Rory! Time to wake up, hon. Mommy's got news." 


	3. Last Night

NOTE: Check me, gang! I'm all post-structuralist and stuff! (Translation: still backwards.) I suppose this is what you could call 'the good part', even though despite my best effort I really couldn't ratchet it up above a PG13. I'm afraid it just isn't in me. We'll all have to seek our smut elsewhere. I'd also like to forewarn that this is woefully lacking in angst. Escapist entertainment, you say? Why yes, I'd love some! I attempted to thwack this with many sticks, including those that impart the Fluffy, the Schmoopy, and hopefully the Adequately Sexy. 

Thanks and big love to all who sent encouragement and feedback; you guys rock. I was listening to Del Amitri while writing most of this, specifically the song "Baby It's Me", so I'd also like to take this opportunity to declare my undying love for Justin Currie. End of obnoxiously long author's note. On to fic. 

* * * * * 

Luke blinked groggily, convinced that he could not have just heard someone mumble, "No, Ricardo Montalban, don't eat the polo ponies." Then he remembered where he was, and saw whose sleeping head was resting on his lap. 

"Lorelai," he said softly, and gently nudged her shoulder. "Lorelai, get up." He jostled her until she looked blearily up at him and yawned. 

"Wha? Luke?" _Why did I fall asleep on Luke? Oh, wait, it's coming back to me._ "Is it over? Did I miss it? How long have I been asleep?" _Why are you such a comfy pillow?_ She squinted in confusion. "Are those lumberjacks on the tv?" Questions abounded. 

"You've been asleep since Documentary Short Subject. After you started snoring I changed the channel to ESPN. Then, uh, I fell asleep too." 

"Hence, lumberjacks." 

"When I got there it was SportsCenter, I swear." 

She sighed. "Since Documentary Short Subject, really? Why didn't you wake me up?" 

"You said you already knew who was going to win that one." 

"Of course I did. The one about the cute old people. It's always the one about the old people." She pouted a little, not seeming to mind that her pouty face still rested on his thigh. "So who won?" 

"The one about the old people." 

"No," she rolled her eyes, "I mean who won the big ones that people actually care about? Best actor, best actress, best picture? Tell me everything. Was Gwyneth skanky? Was Russell Crowe surly?" 

"I don't know, because like I told you, as soon as I realized you were asleep I--" 

"ESPN, right. Some Oscar buddy you are. Didn't I explain to you that the chief purpose of the Oscar Buddy System is to awaken your buddy in time for the big awards if she falls asleep during the boring crap in the middle?" 

"No." 

"Oh." She finally raised herself to a sitting position, but seemed to find it necessary to climb all over him in order to do so. Not quite having shaken off her nap, she allowed her head to come to rest on his shoulder. "Well, it's implied. I bet I even missed the People Who Died This Year Montage. That's my favorite montage!" 

"They should really make them hold their applause until the end of that one," he said, while he stared at her hand that rested casually above his knee. 

"That's what Rory always says. But then how would we know the inherent value of Joe Q. Best Boy's life relative to that of Famous Dead Actor Guy?" 

He found it impossible to argue with that, if only because of her hand and its newly acquired fascination with denim. "Right." 

"Wow, check out that Ukrainian guy. He just threw that ax _really_ far." On 'really' her hand tensed just the slightest bit. 

"Okay," he said, reaching for the remote and clicking off the television. "Enough entertainment. Time for bed." 

It was only her stifled snort that alerted him to any unintended connotations in his words. He generally didn't think in terms of connotations, but it seemed most of her communication was carried out entirely through subtext. He attempted to extricate himself from his strange prison of Lorelai-and-couch without looking her directly in the eyes, but as her head was very close to his that wasn't quite possible. 

"You know," he started, "Because it's late, I mean, and..." 

She yawned again, dramatically, and latched her arms around his neck. "Too tired," she whined. "Carry me." 

She was joking, and they both knew she was joking. What neither could figure out was why she was doing it from his lap. 

"No chance." Even for banter, it didn't sound very convincing. He reached behind him, grabbed hold of her hands, and lowered them to her sides. But, strangely, didn't let go. 

Lorelai recognized that Oscar night was spinning rapidly out of control. This never would have happened if Rory hadn't been too busy writing a paper for a traditional Gilmore Oscar-Fest, even over the phone. And just what was Sookie so busy doing tonight anyway? And with the pads of his fingers on the inside of her wrists like that, could he feel her pulse fluttering, or was she only imagining that? 

"Guess it's goodnight, then," she said, and the melodramatic flair of regret she meant to put in her voice came out startlingly close to genuine regret. In another somewhat surprising development, she couldn't stop staring at his lips. Why was that? Had there been some bizarre subliminal messages in the lumberjack competition that made her suddenly lust after men in flannel? Or was it just that he had really nice lips, which she had never--not _definitively_--noticed before? 

"Yeah." He was close enough to smell her hair now. It smelled nice; not amazingly sensual, but it was something he had always secretly wanted to do. He had a feeling she knew he had done it, yet here she was, still close enough to let him. 

When had this night gotten so weird? 

"Luke?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Thanks for coming over tonight. I know it's not the sort of thing you're into, but nobody wants to watch the Oscars alone. You saved me from being pathetic." 

"No problem," he managed in reply. "It was... I had a good... God, you're beautiful." 

The great screaming weirdness alarms in her head went off as he she pressed her lips against his, but she couldn't stop it. Bells clanged as she straddled his lap. Klaxons wailed when his hand slid around and under the back of her demure-yet-sexy modestly midriff baring top. _Dive! Dive! Duck and cover!_ she thought giddily, but soon began to suspect these particular alarms were monitoring something other than weirdness. More like a perimeter breach. _Luke has breached my perimeter,_ she thought, and would have laughed hysterically if she wasn't so occupied with keeping up an effective counterattack. 

Then before she knew it someone had called a cease fire. Luke was nearly tripping over the coffee table and then shrugging on his jacket halfway across the room. 

He shook his head vigorously in hopes of clearing it. Making out on Lorelai's couch like a couple of teenagers. With _Lorelai_. It had definitely not been in his plans. It had been in his _mind_, granted, numerous times. But he could honestly say it had never once entered into any kind of plan. Had he really said that out loud? That 'beautiful' thing? Oh, God, what a disaster. And had she--? What the hell was in her head? 

"Luke?" 

"Yeah?" He glanced up briefly, but couldn't look at her for long, not able to take the look of baffled anxiety on her face. 

"Umm." 

"Yeah," he confirmed. 

"I'm sorry," she said, but it came out more like a question. 

"That's okay. Really. No big deal." 

"Really?" Her heart fell a little, and she tried not to show it on her face. 

"Sure. I'll see you later, okay?" 

"...Okay." Her voice was so soft he barely heard the word. 

"So, uh, goodnight." 

She nodded, still a little dazed. "Right." Her mouth went dry behind her buzzing lips. The skin on her lower back burned in the outline of his hand. She watched him turn to leave, saw his hand fall on the doorknob, and blurted, "Stay!" 

His posture went rigid in surprise, almost alarm. "What?" 

"I... nothing." She shook her head, confused. He still had his back to her. It made her anxious, and she didn't know whether it was because she wanted him to accept her backpedaling and leave, or because she wanted him to... she wanted him... 

Luke drew in some air and shut his eyes tightly, trying to think this through. She'd given him the out. They could silently erase it, pretend the word had never been said. Was that what she really wanted from him after all this time? After what just happened? More backing away, more pretending? _Dammit._ He clenched his jaw, decision made, and turned slowly back to her. "What did you say? Did you just--?" 

"No!" _No?_ she thought. "No, I... Did I? Oh, God, I did." She tried desperately to drag her eyes from his gaze. It was too intense; too much feeling there, too much communication from him at once. He'd never looked at her like that before, like there was nothing held back in his eyes. Unless maybe he had, and she just hadn't noticed. Hadn't seen. "Oh, God..." He stepped closer to her, and her heart pounded crazily in her chest while her feet stubbornly refused to move backwards. She saw it now, oh yes. She saw it all. Every silly metaphor and analogy deserted her. No bells or sirens. Just the way he was looking at her... 

_This is crazy_, he told himself, even as he closed the space between them. _Stop before there's no going back._ "You asked me to stay." 

"That seems to have been the word that came out of my mouth," she babbled. God, he was standing so close, but he wasn't touching her. Why wasn't he touching her? 

"To stay here. Tonight. With you." 

She swallowed, and nodded dumbly. 

_Because she doesn't want to be alone,_ he thought. _Because I'm convenient_. "Why?" 

The question jarred her. "What? What do you mean 'why'? Because... because we were just..." She tried to flutter her hands, but there wasn't much room for hand-fluttering, and when they brushed against his chest he caught them. She gasped softly. 

"Lorelai." 

It was only her name. He'd said her name a million times before. But never like that, like an answer and a question all in one; like a demand and like a plea. No one had ever said her name like that before. She wanted to hear it again, to hear Luke--oh, god, _Luke_--say it again. _And that's why,_ she realized. 

She flattened her trembling hands against his chest. "Wow, look at that, I'm shaking," she observed. 

His resolve faltered. This was too much, it was too fast. "I'm sorry. I'll--" 

"No!" Before he could back away she bunched the plackets of his shirt tightly in her fists and held him in place. "I'll answer. I asked you to stay because..." _Because I just kissed you and felt your hands on me for the first time ever, and I didn't even know I'd been waiting for it but if I have to wait anymore I think I'll die._ "Because I didn't want you to leave." She saw retreat in his eyes. "I'm not saying this right, I know, but just... just listen to me and try to hear what I want to say instead of what I'm actually saying, all right? I didn't plan it, but it felt important to stop you from leaving, not just because I didn't want you to leave, but because... I wanted you to stay." She looked at him, hopeful that he'd understand. 

"You wanted me to stay because you wanted me to stay." 

She nodded vehemently. "Right. Because if you leave, you won't be here anymore." _Please understand this, please._

He searched her face, tried to translate her logic into something he could understand; then he saw it. Not 'I'll be alone' but 'you won't be here anymore.' He latched onto the distinction and hoped it meant what he wanted it to mean. "You want me to be here," he said quietly. 

She stared at his chest, too nervous to meet his eyes. "Yes." He sighed, and she thought she felt him trembling a little now as well. When she could finally look at him his eyes were closed. She released the fabric of his shirt and slid her right hand to his face. He exhaled raggedly and leaned his head into her touch. His hands went to the small of her back, easily skimming under the hem of her shirt, and his fingers traced tiny circles near her spine. Lorelai raised herself onto her toes and nuzzled her face against his, their lips millimeters apart. "Luke," she said. He flattened his palms against her back and pulled her closer, so close, and his fingers dipped below the waistband of her jeans. "Stay," she whispered against his lips. "Tonight. With me." 

He let out a noise that was half sigh, half moan, and then they were kissing, mouths open and melting into each other liquidly and urgently. They stumbled toward the stairs. Hands moved too quickly to keep track of, sliding over clothes, under clothes, over skin. Luke's cap and jacket dropped immediately to the floor, followed rapidly by his flannel, and then his tee-shirt was pulled free from his waistband. At the touch of her fingertips on his stomach his muscles tensed; he slid his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans and jerked her hips forward against his pelvis. She moaned and wrapped an ankle around his calf, but at that moment her other ankle bumped into the edge of the first stair and they both nearly lost their balance and toppled over, saved only by Lorelai's right hand flinging out and grasping the banister for support. He laughed against her neck, and she was giggling and aroused and felt like she could cry all at once, because god, what a beautiful sound. 

"I refuse to stop kissing you just to get up the stairs," she declared between kisses. "Remind me to put in an elevator." 

"Better idea." He slid his hands down over her butt and applied pressure behind her thighs. "Hop," he told her. 

She clasped her arms around his neck, jumped up, and wrapped her legs around his waist. "My God, you're a genius. And you smell really good. Have you always smelled this good?" 

He took the stairs as fast as he could while carrying her. The bedroom door was standing partially open; he kicked it the rest of the way and miraculously didn't trip over any of her clothes or shoes that littered the floor on the way to the bed. 

Lorelai said a brief prayer of thanks to the creator of the v-neck as Luke's mouth worked its way down her chest, until she decided that Shirts Were Bad and eagerly assisted him in their removal. His fingers fumbled at the back of her bra and he growled in frustration. She broke down in giggles, her forehead on his shoulder. "It's a front hook." 

He leaned back and looked at her in amazement. "What are you, psychic?" 

"I guess the fates are smiling on us," she grinned. In seconds the hook was undone and the straps slid down her shoulders. She shook her hands free of the garment and flung it across the room for good measure. And, oh... large hands... pleasantly raspy stubbled jaw on her chest and then... "Whoa, okay, now they're _really_ smiling!" 

Her already bare feet worked at toeing off his boots while his fingers traced lines across her stomach and then followed them with kisses. Before she knew it she was pushing her jeans down her hips, and his hands were gliding over her bare legs. The jeans fell in a careless heap on top of the boots. He hooked one finger under the elastic waist of her pink cotton bikini briefs and tugged gently. He glanced up at her questioningly, and in answer she launched herself at him so that they were both kneeling on the mattress, his hand trapped between them. Shirts maybe have been Bad, but Friction was Definitely Good. 

Her fingers were at the buttons of his fly, her tongue in the hollow of his throat. "Lorelai," he murmured into her ear, and thought he felt her shiver. 

"Mmm?" 

"Before this goes any further..." Another button, and her fingers were actually--_whoa_. "And while my _brain_ can still function..." She huffed in amusement, and her hot breath tickled the hairs on his chest. "We need to talk about something." 

She froze, pulled back. Her expression was something between frustrated vixen and scared rabbit. "Talk?" she asked, and "talk" had never sounded so similar to "meep!" She'd never even thought about Luke-below-the-waist before--much--and now here she was trying to take his pants off and he wanted to _talk?_ Then her face relaxed and her eyes lit with realization. "Oh! Nightstand, top drawer," she said, diving for the furniture. She yanked the drawer open and rummaged furiously, muttering, "I think they're still good; they'd _better_ still be good..." Then, "A ha! Triumph!" She proudly displayed the square packet, expiration date well in the future. "Do you want me to...?" Hundreds of adorably vulgar ways to finish that sentence danced through her head, but she couldn't bring herself to say any of them. It didn't seem the time, especially with Luke now looking slightly deer-in-the-headlights. 

"Huh? Oh, uh, no. That's kind of... weird, when the woman does it." 

She raised a snarky eyebrow. "You didn't think it was so weird a minute ago when I was..." _Shaking hands with Mister Hail-Fellow-Well-Met_ she thought, but still didn't say. This must be a serious moment indeed. 

"That's... different," he mumbled, "but if you want to..." 

Huh. "No, you're right, that's weird," she answered. "It's like getting fitted for shoes." 

He blinked. "It's really not. Unless maybe that women and shoes thing suddenly makes a lot more sense." _Is any of this conversation making sense?_

"It really doesn't," she said. "Not all of my similes stand up to scrutiny." _Why am I talking about similes? Weren't we making out a minute ago? Why does he still have pants on?_

This was going to take renewed effort and focus. How to make her focus? 

He was holding her firmly, with his hands around her ribcage, his thumbs absently stroking the sides of her breasts. Man, that was distracting. 

"Okay," he tried again, "this is all good to know, but not really what I meant to talk about." 

"Oh." _Oh. He does want to talk. Meep._

_This is crazy_, he told himself. _You're crazy. She's driven you insane, with her skin and her hair and her hands, and her eyes, looking at you like that after all this time, and hell, this is all probably just a really vivid hallucination anyway, so you might as well keep going._

"I hadn't planned on saying this, but, you know, now that we're... where we are..." 

"In bed." She was nuzzling him again, and he struggled to stay verbal. 

"Right." 

"Or did you mean metaphorically?" 

"That too." He tried to plan his next words, more concerned about being coherent than romantic at this point, but it was... well, hard. It wasn't as if he had rehearsed this--much. And in his head he was never quite this... distracted. "Damn it, I don't want to ruin this or freak you out or anything, but the thing is, Lorelai, we've known each other for a while, and maybe now's not the right time to say this--maybe there won't _be_ a right time--but I figured, if there ever were a right time this is pretty close to it, so--" 

"Luke, you're babbling," she interrupted. "That's so cute." 

He frowned. "I don't babble. And I'm not cute." 

"But you just did. And it was. That's the most words I've ever heard come out of your mouth at one time that weren't part of an angry diatribe. Which is redundant, really, because who ever heard of any other kind of diatribe--" 

"I love you." 

"I'm obviously rubbing off on you--heh, rubbing up against you, currently--if you've absorbed my penchant for adorable babbling. Next thing you know I'll be ranting like a misanthrope and excuse me, what?" 

He sighed. Was that code for 'you'd better take that back unless you like the sound of screeching tires as I peel into reverse right over your heart'? It was so hard to tell with her. Well, screw it if it was. 

"I love you, Lorelai. There. I said it." 

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "You did. You did say it." Her hands tightened around his biceps. "You're sure about this?" 

Was she making fun of him? "No, it's a theory I'm testing. Of course I'm sure." 

"You, Luke, love me, Lorelai." 

"Again, yes. Are you making fun of me?" 

"No!" Her lower lip quivered, but no screeching tires yet. Then suddenly, fiercely, she hugged him, and whispered, "Thank you." 

He held her, a little perplexed but relieved. "No problem," he assured her. "That's what I'm here for." 

She sniffled a little. "I knew that," she said, mostly to herself. "I did. I might check back in a while to make sure, though." 

"Okay." 

"I'm glad you said that, really. I don't want you to get the impression I'm the kind of girl who usually does this on the first date." 

"This was a date?" 

"I retroactively declare it so," she murmured to his clavicle. 

"So is that just tonight, or does it include all of the last ten years?" 

"The world's first decade long first date. Guess I'm not so easy after all." 

He snorted. "_You?_ You do know that easy is the _opposite_ of difficult, right?" 

"Oh, shut up and take off your pants." 

His last coherent thought, absurd as it was, was _I am holding Lorelai Gilmore's panties in my hand_, and then she was touching him again, and the panties dropped to the floor, forgotten. She surrounded him, her body, her scent, her voice. Movement and sensation, breath and skin. Sex and emotion. 

Luke and Lorelai. 

Incredible. And yet, very definitely happening. 

Lorelai vaguely wondered if it was actually possible for her brain to melt. At one point it seemed to temporarily dissolve into a puddle of nothing more than _LukeLukeLuke..._

Her hands skimmed across his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms. God, his arms, so strong, and kind, and _Luke_, holding her while they made love. Later, as they were drifting toward sleep, legs tangled together under her quilt, she realized that they were the best arms she had ever been in. Not because inside them she felt special, and beautiful, and loved. She did, but she'd felt that before. They were the best arms because when they were around her, she felt like she'd come home. 

It wasn't perfect contentment. She'd felt that before, too, and knew it wasn't real. What this was, she decided as she snuggled closer to him, was imperfect happiness. She could definitely learn to live with that. 


End file.
